Now that you’re gone.

Now that you’re gone, I’m left here thinking of all the evenings we spent together.

I still don’t believe it. And no, I’d rather not accept it.

I can’t get myself to listen to all that music we shared together.

I can’t get myself to look up at the postcards, tagged to my board, you sent from Spain.

Now that you’re gone, I feel like something is amiss.

Forgive me for pushing you away.

Forgive me for making you cry. Possibly more than once.

Forgive me for being that friend who used you.

Now that you’re gone, I realise I was being selfish with you.

I’ve only ever known to push people away, knowing very well they may some day choose to do the same to me.

I’ve loved and lost many. And, of all those, you’re the one I feel the most guilty over. For never telling you how much your friendship meant to me.

I’ve forgotten how we first met. I’m afraid I’m forgetting a whole lot more.

Now that you’re gone, I’m starting to believe that you were only just a dream.

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